


The Original Shipper

by JacobandEvie



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, RPF, Secrets, fanfic about fanfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-14
Updated: 2020-08-14
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:49:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25900861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JacobandEvie/pseuds/JacobandEvie
Summary: Based on this prompt:Molly discovers there is Sherlock Holmes RPF (Real Person Fiction) on the internet. She’s shocked to find that someone called Sherlolly4vr74 has been writing fic about her and Sherlock, and they seem to have a dedicated fan base.  Some of the stories are very sweet and romantic, some of them are hot enough to give her NSFW ideas.  Who is Sherlolly4vr74 (Is it Anderson?  Mrs Hudson? Mary?  John?  I bet it’s John.) and is Sherlock aware of the stories?  -  @darnedchild
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper
Comments: 8
Kudos: 50





	The Original Shipper

Sherlock Holmes started writing long before John joined him at 221 Baker St. At the time, of course, he didn’t post it anywhere, didn’t have an account of a site that he never would admit to even knowing. He started it as a way to purge it from his Mind Palace. If his attraction to Molly was written, then it was no longer stored in _him._ He could easily delete it from a Word document in a way that was proving difficult when in his actual Mind Palace.

It started simply. What if they met over coffee to talk about pathology? What if, when he complimented her and her cheeks turned that lovely shade of pink, he asked her to dinner instead of for a lab report? What if, when he went over to her flat to “clear his Mind Palace,” he admitted that he really just wanted to see her face again?

Once John came along, his stories kept growing. John’s hunting and pecking annoyed him. When the blogger typed so much, it was a wonder that the man still couldn’t smoothly hit the keys he needed. _Sherlock_ could type smoothly, thousands of words already saved to his laptop. Hundreds of stories, some sort and to the point, some longer – a more drawn out tale of how his life might be changed with her more prominently placed in it.

John, of course, had no idea. The blond joked about RPF, real person fiction, depicting the detective in all his glory. He pointed out the sites and stories, raging at how everyone seemed to pair the two of them up. Later, when John was asleep, Sherlock went online and searched. A few stories had Lestrade involved, but the majority focused on John and him. None of these stories even _knew_ about Molly! It was unacceptable!

He made an account. Sherlolly4vr74.

(No, he had _not_ been thinking about a couple name for months or years. It simply…came to him.

One day.

Shortly after he met her.)

Someone had to tell the world about his Molly and all the ways that she helped him. And all the better, he already had stories written. None that he ever expected to share, of course. They required cleaning, and editing, and proofing, but they existed now. Hidden behind the anonymity of the internet, Sherlock let the world read all his secret thoughts and dreams about his pathologist.

He got famous. Newspapers chased him, everyone suddenly demanded press conferences. He became known, his face and work. It was impossible to move covertly without intense, facial reconstruction disguise. It was all John’s fault and the detective bemoaned the fact to whomever would listen. Molly, especially, joked about it, calling him a boffin at any opportunity.

He wrote more as she became even more comfortable around him. And as his fame grew, so did a select, dedicated number of his readers. When he was forced to answer questions in his press conferences, he made sure to mention Molly, followed by Lestrade who praised her just as much. His readers finally started to realize that Molly existed and was important. Potentially the _most_ important.

Sherlock just never expected anyone _he_ knew to read and understand that.

…

Molly had heard of RPF, of course. She, Greg, and John had spent a lot of time laughing about it together. Some characterizations were so outrageous that they felt they weren’t even reading about Sherlock anymore! But, secretly, she enjoyed seeing the stories that paired up her and Sherlock. She knew it was a pipe dream, but it was nice to sometimes get the support.

Some stories made her sound weak, ready to cry at any moment. But others showed her as strong and in-control. She liked those ones the best, but none so much as the stories by the author known as Sherlolly4vr74.

Somehow, that author grasped herself and Sherlock perfectly. Even their interactions seemed based on real life conversations! If she didn’t know better, Molly would guess that they were written by someone who they actually knew. That was impossible, though, given that John already blogged and Greg was far too busy with work and his wife. That only left Sherlock, but she laughed that thought away whenever it popped up. He would never view her as a strong, independent woman who was the most important person in his little world.

Until he ever reciprocated her feelings, she would secretly enjoy all the naughty fanfiction and meet-cutes that she could read.

…

The day that everything changed started out like any other. Sherlock had wrapped up a case earlier that day once Molly identified the cause of death. Three autopsies, several cups of coffee, and a mountain of paperwork later, the pathologist rubbed her aching neck and caught the tube home. All she wanted was a hot shower, a hot meal and sleep, in that order.

Of course, that was until she found Sherlock perched on her bed, typing like a madman.

“Whatcha working on?”

He startled and slammed the laptop shut. “Nothing important.”

“Hm. Seemed pretty important to me,” she teased. “You sure were focused if I could sneak up on you.”

He rolled his eyes. “Just go shower. There’s take out in the fridge.”

“Sometimes, you are the best!”

She set down her purse and stripped off her cardigan. Grabbing her pajamas, she made her way to the bathroom. Behind her, she heard the sound of typing start up once more. Whatever. She shook her head, thinking that if he wanted to her know, he would tell her.

It was only later, after sharing take out, that she realized Sherlock had left his laptop open as he went to shower. Should she snoop? He had been so secretive about it. Molly bit her lip, hovering in indecision. It only took one passing thought to make the decision, however. After all, how many times he had looked through her phone, her laptop, her drawers, her kitchen, her entire life!

He was writing on a Word document entitled “Post Case Victory.” Her brows furrowed as she browsed through what he wrote. And then, her heart stopped for a beat.

He was writing fanfiction. About them.

Her pulse raced as a shaky hand went to press on his other folders. She knew these stories. She had _read_ these stories, but online. From… from Sherlolly4vr74. She swallowed heavily. Opening a browser, she typed in the address of her favorite site, watching in awe as the link filled itself out. And at the top, the user name was written, already signed in.

Sherlolly4vr74

She sat back, shocked to her core. _Sherlock_ wrote RPF? And not just any RPF, but fiction where he shipped _him and her_? It boggled her mind. In her confusion, she missed the sound of the shower shutting off and doors opening and closing.

“Molly? Where did you move my – ah.”

She jumped, shoving the device away from her. “Sherlock!”

“I see you found my…secret then.”

“I – you – what?”

He sighed heavily and went to sit on the side of her bed. They sat in silence for a moment, organizing their thoughts. Finally though, Sherlock sighed once more and turned to face her.

“I never meant for you to find these.”

“I mean, I’ve already –” she swallowed. “I’ve already read them.”

His eyebrows shot up. “You have?”

“Yeah. This person, that is, _you_ , I guess, you’re my favorite author.”

“You read fiction about us?”

“You know how I feel about you,” she laughed hollowly.

“Even after that…party?”

She shrugged and looked away. The Christmas party, and autopsy following, had been rough. She had missed going to her sister’s house to go to that party and hadn’t felt up to the trip after she was called to autopsy the naked, faceless woman.

And yet, Sherlock apologized, had even come by a few days later to explain the situation after he had been x-raying her phone. So yes, the memory hurt, but it had been a learning experience for the both of them. And he had never done anything else like it before.

“You apologized. You explained it. Why would I stay upset?”

Slowly, Sherlock reached out to grab her hand. “I never dated her. I was enticed by the game, but I never felt anything for her.”

“But Sherlock, your stories…”

“I started writing stories long before I met John.” Molly’s mouth fell open. “I had to delete the feelings that had started growing up because of you. And writing about it seemed to be the best way. When John showed me the site that had posting about him and myself, I knew that I had to somehow show the world how much you meant to me.”

“And how much do I mean to you?”

Sherlock looked in her eyes, holding one of her hands in both of his. “You mean the most to me. Without you, I would not be who I am today.”

Her free hand went up to shakily cover her mouth. Tears pools in the corners of her eyes, but she blinked them back. Swallowing heavily, she allowed a smile to start to grow.

“You mean the most to me too, Sherlock. I – I don’t know if I’m in love with you yet, but I want you in my life. With me.”

“I want that too,” he said with a relieved grin. “I thought that, maybe one day you’d see how terrible would be as a significant other and stop caring for me. So, I pushed you away.”

She laughed, the weight of the world falling off her shoulders. “It would take a lot more than that to get rid of me!”

He joined in with her laughter until the both were flat on their backs. Calming themselves, Sherlock reached out to tuck a stray piece of hair behind her ear and cupped her face.

“May I kiss you?”

“Please do.”

Slowly, he brought his lips to hers. The roaring, cataloguing part of his brain faded away until all he could focus on was the glide of Molly’s soft lips against his. His stories could never have done this justice.

Pulling away, he grinned.

“What?” she asked.

“I got a new story idea.”

“Oh? Using real world inspiration? That’s cheating, you know.”

He just smirked and wrapped his arms around her. Even he couldn’t begin to guess what the future would bring, what Moriarty would use to show off next. But for now, he was content to lay with the most important woman in his arms.

**Author's Note:**

> This popped into my head as soon as I read the prompt. I wrote it in an hour and only looked over it once. Feel free to point out any errors, but I hope you enjoyed!


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